


That's My Gun

by ardberts



Series: That's My Gun [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 02:58:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17092766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardberts/pseuds/ardberts
Summary: He had been eavesdropping on two portly men exchanging stories about their respective oil drilling prospects and had toyed with the idea of moving upstairs when John became keenly aware of the sound of a young woman stifling a giggle directly behind him. Something about the laugh had rattled him, and he found himself swimming in his own self-consciousness again, jaw tightening as he adjusted his jacket to cover up the ugly tie beneath his vest.John’s ears burned, no doubt turning pink as he caught another young woman whisper something to the other, high-pitched and animated. Taking a sip of his whiskey, he turned to glance back at the culprits.





	That's My Gun

**Author's Note:**

> timeline: 1891
> 
> big, big shoutout to CyclonicJet for being the best beta ever and for not only reading this monster multiple times but also for fixing a lot of the exposition for me.

_last night you were who you prefer because of me_

John hated wearing suits. He didn't understand how rich men could stand to be in them all day, especially in the summer months when the cotton of their starched shirts stuck to every inch of their perspiring skin under stiff, tweed waistcoats and wool jackets. Luckily for him, the seasons had finally begun to shift, the weather cooling down as the days grew shorter and autumn set in.As he and the rest of the Van Der Linde gang rode in that afternoon, John had to admit, Bethany was a beautiful town, a bit too industrial for his tastes, but beautiful nonetheless. The leaves of the trees that lined its macadam roads had started to turn not too long before their arrival, and had he not been so miserable, tugging at his sleeves and pulling down his waistcoat - hand-me-downs from some stuck-up thug Arthur had robbed and killed - he might have actually appreciated it.

They had hitched their horses outside of a particularly fancy saloon when Dutch announced they were splitting up. He and Hosea were going to stake out and charm the more official-looking establishments, Arthur and Wynona were to prowl the back alleys and the local church, and John was to stay put at the saloon, mind his own business, and listen. John had grumbled to himself, feeling very much like he had gotten the short end of the stick but knowing full well that he lacked both the charm and up-kept appearance of the others, even after Dutch had forced him to wash his black mat of hair and put on that damn magician outfit.

Still, there were worse ways to spend an afternoon than sitting at a bar and people watching, so he obliged, perching on a stool at the corner of the counter and ordering himself two fingers of whiskey. At least wealthy folk had decent taste in liquor, even if he didn't have very much to spend on it. As the bartender poured him his drink and slid it to him, John allowed himself the smallest of smirks - he had had his fair share of alcohol for a few years now, but there was still something satisfying about being able to order and consume it legally. Who knew obeying the law could be so enjoyable?

As he sipped his drink, John took a moment to scan the saloon. Its patrons were mostly older men, business-types ambling in after another day of sitting in offices watching poorer men sweat in their factories, or whatever it was that men with money did all day. A handful of them gathered at circular tables lining the space behind him, some took seats in booths by the windows along the streets, and even more of them tipped their hats at the bartender and made their way straight upstairs to the poker tables. It was a very fancy saloon.

John had been there for almost twenty minutes before he started to feel out of place, toying with the frayed, woolen edge of one of his sleeves and hoping he only felt like he stood out like a sore thumb, though his goddamned rag of a suit wasn't doing him any favors. The pieces didn't even match; his waistcoat all grey pinstripes, a black jacket and slacks one size too big for his thin frame, a brown belt slung around his hips, a white shirt that made him feel like a Sunday school teacher, and the most god-awful, paisley, periwinkle tie. The only thing that gave him the smallest bit of comfort was the black Cattleman he had on his head.

"Another round, mister?" the bartender offered, snapping John out of his thoughts. He hadn't even realized he'd finished his first drink.

"Yeah," he replied, clearing his throat and sliding his empty glass across the counter. "Sure."

John shook his head to clear it, suddenly remembering he was supposed to be working, even if his task was menial. He took a moment to toss a coin the bartender's way as he slid another whiskey towards him before slouching over his drink and peering at the saloon's patrons a little more intently, ears perked as he listened for any leads he could bring back to Dutch and Hosea.

He had been eavesdropping on two portly men exchanging stories about their respective oil drilling prospects and had toyed with the idea of moving upstairs when John became keenly aware of the sound of a young woman stifling a giggle directly behind him. Something about the laugh had rattled him, and he found himself swimming in his own self-consciousness again, jaw tightening as he adjusted his jacket to cover up the ugly tie beneath his vest.

John's ears burned, no doubt turning pink as he caught another young woman whisper something to the other, high-pitched and animated. Taking a sip of his whiskey, he turned to glance back at the culprits.

Three young women, newly blossomed and ornate in both stature and dress had taken up the round, windowed booth behind him. Two of them were agreeable enough, their hair braided and pinned neatly to the tops of their heads. Both of them, however, seemed to fade into the background of the third, whose deep auburn tresses, alight from the sun pouring through the window behind her, pooled dangerously by a hint of an exposed collarbone, framing a round face and stark green eyes piercing in his direction. Whatever court this was, she was clearly its ruler.

John quickly turned away, focusing intently on his drink, eyes wide and cheeks burning. If his ears hadn't been pink already, they most certainly would have turned scarlet by then. In a way, he thought, she had almost seemed more out of place than he was. In her case, though, it was because she seemed to have popped right out of one of those books with knights and princesses Hosea had made him read when he was younger rather than being too scraggly and underdressed for her present company.

Up until that point in life, the only women John had encountered had been orphanage nuns, working girls, Susan (who wasn't unattractive, but fell much too far into the category of "mother" for him to think twice about), and Wynona, who might as well have been a wild animal for all he cared to think about her in that way. He suddenly felt himself wishing Dutch or even Arthur were there with him, if only in the hopes that the ladies would shift their attention to them instead, leaving him alone to fade into the sidelines.

Before he had another moment to think, the girls had begun giggling again, this time not bothering to stifle themselves. John lowered his head, staring intently into his half-finished whiskey and chewing his bottom lip as he tried to refocus on the two prospectors he had been listening in on prior. He saw a flash of red out of the corner of his eye and his back stiffened with dread as his nervous gaze flicked up to meet the auburn-haired girl's, verdant and predatory.

She had taken the seat across from him, separating her body from his with the corner of the bar's countertop. Up close, John was relieved to discover she was human, noting the flakes in the white powder she had used to cover up a faint line of freckles on her nose as well as a small albeit noticeable scar at the peak of her left cheekbone that seemed to be a relative of a long-healed cut at the edge of her eyebrow. None of this, however, changed the fact that she was the prettiest girl he had ever seen, nor the fact that he suddenly didn't how what to do with his hands.

"What's your story, cowboy?" she asked, smirking playfully. Her voice was much deeper than her friends' and she had a thick Irish accent that John had to really concentrate on in order to understand. Behind him, he could still hear her friends attempting to suppress their snickering and watched as the redhead flashed her eyes towards them for the briefest of moments before they fell quiet.

"Sorry," she continued, resting an elbow on the counter and leaning towards him. "They can be pretty obnoxious."

"Thought it was just me," John agreed gruffly. He focused his attention on the bar's varnished wood, avoiding meeting her eyes before, suddenly, a hand appeared before him and promptly snatched the whiskey glass he had been nursing clean out from between his fingertips. He snapped his head up to glare at her. "Hey!"

"You going to finish this?" the redhead inquired, draining the remainder of the glass in one great swig before tapping it back down in front of him.

"I guess not," was John's disgruntled reply, his eyes narrowed at the girl incredulously. He was beginning to realize that, outside of her looks, she didn't seem to resemble any of the princesses in Hosea's books at all. "Can I help you with something, lady?"

"Paige," the girl stated matter-of-factly, extending her right hand towards him and smiling. "Paige O'Riain. And you can help me by answering my question, mister...?"

John hesitated for a moment, eyeing the girl suspiciously, still not entirely convinced her speaking to him wasn't part of some kind of joke. Though, even if it was, he was stuck here now so he might as well at least see what came out of it.

"John Marston," he returned, taking her hand and shaking it once.

"That's a mighty firm handshake you've got there, Mister Marston," Paige said teasingly, rolling the sound of his last name over her tongue as she spoke. "Marston's an old name, innit?"

"I guess," John offered, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably as Paige caught the bartender's attention.

"Two more whiskeys for me and Mister Marston here!" she called.

John mulled it over a while. "I guess my father was Scottish."

"Pity he wasn't Irish," Paige replied, still beaming as she nudged one of the freshly-delivered glasses towards him. "Comparing fathers is one of me favorite pastimes."

John, not knowing how to respond, simply nodded and took a sip of his new drink. He figured that the longer he endured her, the sooner she would get bored with him and move on to the next poor sap.

"So," Paige continued, swirling her whiskey around in its glass before taking her first sip. "What is it that you do? You've got nice hands so I know you aren't no working boy."

John's narrowed his eyes at her again, then took a swig of his drink and chuckled. "I'm just tryin' to get by. Ain't all that complicated."

"A man trying to get by, is it?" she cooed, quirking an eyebrow at him. "How mysterious you are, John Marston." She tilted her head, setting her drink down and lightly tracing the rim of the glass. "And when you aren't 'trying to get by,' as you put it, what else do you do?"

John groaned loudly in defeat and shrugged. "I don't know. Nothin' much, I suppose. Hang out in bars, apparently."

The girl took a moment to examine him carefully. John could all but see the cogs in her brain turning, piecing together a puzzle, figuring him out.

"Well, John," Paige drawled. "If you ever get tired of hanging out in bars, let me know. I know a place that might be just a little more exciting."

She was teasing him now. He could feel it.

"Look, lady, I--"

"Paige," she stated, looking him directly in the eye. "I thought we'd already covered that."

She was giving him a grin that made him feel like he was being toyed with, like a hawk circling a hare.

"Paige, then," John continued. "I've got things to--"

"Really?" she interrupted, cocking an eyebrow. She gazed around the saloon. "You're sitting alone at a bar on one of the finest days we've had since summer. What a fascinating life you lead."

The way she was still grinning at him made John very uncomfortable.

"I mean, I have to be somewhere is all," he began, standing up from his seat and rummaging in his pockets for a few dollars to toss at the bartender.

"Well, I have somewhere better for you to be," Paige said, cutting him off. She clasped his wrist in one hand eagerly, tugging him towards her in earnest. "It just so happens my father having a little party this evening."

"Your father?" John asked, confused.

"Oh, yes," she continued. "He's quite partial to them, you see."

"And what kind of party is this?" he asked, cautiously. Now that she was in less danger of losing his attention, he noticed her grip on his wrist loosen.

"A celebration," she explained, her eyes lighting up with something sinister. "For a railroad he's building north of here."

At this, John's ears perked up. "Your father owns a railroad?"

Paige sat back in her seat, releasing her grip on John's wrist. "Well, now he owns three," she said, dangling her whiskey glass between her fingers, her eyes flashing up at him. "I would think this kind of party would be very interesting to attend for a man who's 'just trying to get by.'"

It was John's turn to raise an eyebrow. Her eyes were narrowed at him knowingly, though he couldn't tell if that was his imagination or not. A high society party at a railroad tycoon's house with guests who were no doubt of the same ilk could be exactly the kind of trouble Dutch and the rest of the gang could get into. They'd have to keep a low profile for the most part, but the way Paige was grinning made John feel like they might have an insider on the job.

"Mind if I bring a few friends?" John asked.

"The more the merrier, Mister Marston," Paige replied with a wicked grin on her face. She reached over the counter to grab a napkin and pencil, jotting down an address before handing it to him. Then, she hopped off the bar stool and crossed to John's side, taking a moment to reach up and trace her fingers along his paisley tie.

"Be there at eight o'clock and don't wear this tie," she snorted playfully before gesturing to her friends. John had almost forgotten they had been there hanging onto his every word the entire time. The two brown-haired girls stood, both smiling gleefully at him, and turned to follow Paige out of the saloon.

Once she was gone, John sat back down at the bar, letting out a long, drawn-out sigh. "The hell?"

*

The moment Dutch heard what had transpired in the saloon, his face lit up like the morning sun. A good, old fashioned invitation to a high society party. It had been the kind of score they had spent months searching for.

The final hours leading up to the party were spent fabricating tales and spinning stories of who they were and what they were doing. Hosea ended up crafting the story of how he and Dutch were the executives of a mining firm based in Illinois. John and Arthur would fill the roles of their sons, up-and-coming new bloods learning the family business. Wynona would have the pleasure of playing Arthur's wife.

Their tale was simple: They were travelling in search of new prospects, looking to expand their ventures into the untapped wealth of the west. To that end, Hosea had even managed to procure tenancy of a handful of rooms at a local hotel, all in an effort to sell the effects of their story as genuine.

Although Wynona had loud complaints about having to spend some of her hard-earned money on a dress, John could tell by the impish grin she tried to hide on her face that she was excited about the night ahead. Arthur had been the only one of them to express any real pushback on the plan.

"Something just don't sit right with me about this," he grumbled, tugging on the sleeves of his black jacket and straightening them out over his crisp, white dress shirt. "What kinda girl asks a stranger to rob her family home?"

John shrugged, wrestling with a knot in his tie, a deep red one Hosea had let him borrow. "Dutch don't seem to have a problem with it."

He heard Arthur let go of an impatient sigh. "Yeah, well, she could be the sheriff's daughter and Dutch would have walked into this shindig handcuffed as long as you were the one holding the keys."

John opened his mouth to fight back but thought better of it and shook his head. Honestly, despite his unconditional love for the man, he oftentimes found himself thinking Arthur was lucky he had a handsome face and talent with a gun to cover up the fact that he was one sour bastard.

A swift knock at their hotel room door interrupted John's thoughts.

"Boys!" came Dutch's muffled voice from the hallway. "Meet downstairs as soon as you can. The stage coach will be here any minute!"

John and Arthur exchanged glances.

"Stage coach?" Arthur repeated, confused. "Really?"

"This is dumb."

*

Downstairs, John climbed into the carriage of a burgundy stagecoach, sliding over to the end of the seat across from Dutch and Hosea. Arthur waited outside, propping the door open against his back while he watched the entrance of their hotel, grumbling under his breath.

"What's takin' that girl so long?" he huffed, fumbling within the pockets of his black jacket for a cigarette and match.

"Relax, son," Dutch chuckled boisterously, a freshly-lit cigar already smoldering between his lips. "We've got a job to do, sure, but let's not lose sight of any fun we may have before the night's over."

"Last I saw, Susan still had her mitts on her," Hosea added comfortingly, a bemused smile on his thin face as he leaned forward from behind Dutch's shoulder. "I'm sure she'll be down any minute, Arthur."

"She's gonna make us late," Arthur complained between cigarette drags.

"Oh, no one's ever on time for these things," Dutch assured. "All being on time does is make it seem like you had nothing else to do."

"I will never understand why it takes women so goddamned long to--"

As Arthur's voice trailed off, John craned his neck to see what had finally gotten him to shut up. Wynona had finally emerged from the hotel and was making her way towards the stagecoach, a smug-looking Susan standing in the doorway behind her, watching as her handiwork made its way down the cobblestone path.

John thought Wynona looked almost like she was floating with the way her dress, amber-colored skirts beneath a black brocade embroidered with gold thread, pooled around her feet and trailed deliberately behind her. Her matching bodice was tight and buttoned in the front, with lightly padded shoulders and long, fitted point sleeves. Her dark brown hair was done into two braids on either side of her head and pinned back save for two wavy tendrils that hung loosely in front of her ears, framing her face. Susan had even gotten her to wear makeup.

John thought she looked all right. Arthur's cigarette had fallen out of his mouth as he gaped at her and was quickly turning to ashes at his feet.

"What?" Wynona asked, a satisfied smirk on her face as she took in Arthur's reaction. "Somethin' on my face?"

"You look pretty as a picture, my girl," Hosea beamed as Dutch held out a hand to help Wynona take a seat next to John. "Arthur, pick your jaw up off the ground and get in the carriage."

"Yeah, Morgan," Wynona teased, still grinning. "We're going to be late."

The ride to the O'Riain estate had everyone in high spirits, aided in no small part by Dutch's silver flask, which had made it around to John twice before running out. He had been relieved to partake in it as he found himself growing more and more anxious as they drew closer to their destination.

Once the carriage driver announced that they were about five minutes out, Dutch leaned forward, beckoning them all towards him. When he spoke, his voice was low and weighty.

"Now, remember the plan," he said, looking each of them in the eye. "Everyone's got their part to play. Hosea and I are in charge of mingling, building a name for ourselves among the other guests. We want to make friends with these people, but we also don't want to leave empty-handed. That's where you come in, John."

John nodded, chewing the inside of his bottom lip and grunting in acknowledgement.

"You get that girl of yours talking and find out where her family's hiding anything valuable in the house," Dutch continued, gesturing with the cigar still in his hand. "You give that information to Arthur, then he and Wynona will do any robbing."

John watched as Dutch turned his head to examine Wynona, specifically focused on the bodice of her dress. As if on cue, Wynona bent forward and lifted her skirt just slightly, revealing a set of lock picking tools strapped just above her right ankle.

"'Atta girl," Dutch praised.

A few minutes later, the carriage finally came to a halt and the gang piled out onto a cobblestone path that lead to the entrance of the estate, a grand, two story manor with broad, white columns lining its balconied facade. Two staircases with steel railings circled their way up to the front door, and surrounding the house itself was a wide, well-manicured expanse of lawn, shaded with all manner of foliage, from willows to a small grove of peach trees.

It was, without a doubt, the largest house John had ever seen and, incredible as it was, he couldn't imagine living in a place so big. Maybe having hired help and needing a map to navigate your own home sounded like luxury to some folk, but, to him, it just seemed like a hassle. He'd take sleeping in a tent over that prison any day.

"Behave yourselves, children," Hosea cautioned them, buttoning the front of his jacket with one hand and nodding his head past John and in the direction of Arthur and Wynona. "That means you two."

Once inside, the gang dispersed - Dutch and Hosea almost immediately disappeared into a group of suits and cigar smoke while Arthur and Wynona crossed the hardwood foyer onto the outdoor patio, leaving John by himself amidst unfamiliar company and territory. As he stood awkwardly in the middle of the foyer, a member of the estate's staff appeared at his side, all but shoving a glass of what looked like watered down beer into his hands.

"Um, what is this?" John asked the man, holding the glass to his nose and giving it a tentative sniff.

"Champagne, sir," the man replied. John gave him a look that said he had done nothing to answer his question, but the man had already whisked away to serve other drink-less guests.

"Well, thanks," John mumbled to himself before taking a sip and frowning. "I hate it."

"Oi, Marston!"

The sound of Paige's voice was a welcome relief, if only because it was familiar. She sauntered towards him from the patio, fiery red hair down as it was when he had met her in the saloon, and dressed in a dusty rose gown made mostly of lace save for its bodice, which was a stiff corset with a square neckline that plunged as far down as it could without passing for indecency. She had a matching shawl wrapped lazily around her pale shoulders that, based on the motif of the rest of her outfit, John assumed she had been forced to wear.

He felt his ears burning again as she closed in on him, thankful for the glass of cham-thing in his hands so he needn't worry about what to do with them this time around. She was grinning when she finally got to him, scrunching her nose and raking her teeth over her lower lip playfully as she lithely linked her arm with his.

John tensed visibly. "You, uh," he stammered, glancing down at her as she began idly steering him about the room. "You look nice."

"You seem nervous, John," Paige mused, her fingertips burning holes in his sleeve where they clutched his arm. "It's just a room of old people. Old, unnecessarily rich people."

"What's your game, exactly?" John asked, eyebrows knitted with suspicion.

"What d'you mean?" she wondered, though her voice was distant, her attention suddenly drawn elsewhere. John followed her gaze up a carpeted staircase, at the top of which stood a tall, older man in a black suit not unlike the rest of the men in the room. He would have seemed fairly indistinguishable from the rest of the men in the room were it not for his neatly pomaded hair, peppered fading orange and grey, and his familiar green eyes that flashed not at Paige, but at John.

"That your father?" John couldn't put his finger on why, but the way the man was watching him, exasperation in his eyes and his lips thinly pursed, was deeply unsettling.

Paige whirled around to face him, grin unwavering as she reached up to straighten out his tie before grabbing him by the hand and tugging him towards the patio. "Let's go dance," she urged, then nodded at the glass of champagne he was still clutching. "And get rid of that, it's awful."

"I, uh-- sure." John gladly dropped the glass off with another member of the roaming staff and followed Paige out onto the lawn, away from her father's glare.

Being outside felt like being at an entirely different party. While the inside of the house had been filled with cigar smoke, brandy, and old men, the back lawn offered fresh air, a string quartet, and laughter. People stood or sat around each other in circles, joking and conversing animatedly and couples danced to a slow but upbeat tune beneath small gas lanterns that must have taken hours to string and light up over the deck. John still felt out of place, but the atmosphere outside had at least helped his shoulders stop tensing.

As he was steered closer to the band, John became vaguely aware of his own two feet, watching other couples around him gracefully moving about each other in time with the music. A lump caught its way in his throat as Paige took both of his hands in hers and placed them at her hips before resting her forearms lightly at his shoulders. She was still wearing that wicked grin of hers.

"You don't know how to dance, do you?" she giggled with a kitten-like scrunch of her nose.

John shook his head and shrugged. "I've honestly never had the opportunity."

"It's easy," Paige instructed, moving her hips side to side to the music. "Most of the time, you can get by just swaying."

So, John swayed, and he felt extremely foolish doing so, though he had to admit, there was something oddly enjoyable about it. Everyone else around them were absorbed in their dance partners and, for the first time all day, with Paige leading, he felt like he was blending in.

"So," Paige said after a few comforting moments of silence. "My game."

John let out a quick huff through his nose. "I'm guessin' you had me pegged from the beginning."

"It wasn't much of a challenge, truth be told," Paige replied coyly, not attempting to hide the smug look on her face. "The only kind of man who won't give a straight answer when asked about his profession either doesn't have one or is ashamed of of it."

"I look ashamed to you?" John frowned, shooting her an incredulous look.

"No," Paige snorted. "But I did just trick you into confirming how you 'get by.'"

"So, you do want us to rob you," he replied, still not entirely sure how any of the puzzle pieces that had formed in his head were going to fit. "You know people might get hurt, right?"

Paige shrugged.

"You're crazy."

At that, Paige dropped the smile and locked eyes with him. John could feel her hold on his shoulders stiffen just slightly. "Maybe I am," she said evenly. "But you're not going to turn me down, Mister Marston."

John sighed, relaxing his shoulders and averting his gaze past hers -- she was right about that. Free, easy money? If he were to walk away from that, she would be the one telling him he was crazy.

They swayed in silence for a few moments while John mulled it over.

"Alright, then," he relented finally. "What do you get out of this besides a pissed off old man?"

Paige's devilish grin returned. "You're going to take me with you when you leave."

"Excuse me?" John scoffed, pulling away from her just slightly, but the girl was unwavering.

"I tell you where the money and jewels are, and you take me with you and your gang." There was an excitement in her green eyes that made John uneasy.

"Lady, you wouldn't last a day out there with us," he chuckled, shaking his head.

"Maybe not," Paige shrugged, peering at their present company, the proper gowns and jackets without even a hint of dust or character to them. "But I'd rather try out there than last another day in here with these people."

A short, high-pitched whistle caught John's attention and he looked up past Paige's shoulder, spotting Arthur dancing with Wynona only a few yards away. The older man raised his eyebrows expectantly, glancing at the back of Paige's head. She had heard the whistle as well and angled herself towards the source the sound. As she turned, the hair at her shoulders shifted and John noticed a large bruise at the curve of her neck, already beginning to yellow at its edges. It had been heavily powdered with makeup.

John hissed, unable to contain himself. "Where'd that come from?"

She ignored the question and beckoned Arthur and Wynona over to them, but it still lingered in John's mind. He wondered if it was related at all to the scar on her cheek. The scar, he thought, could easily be explained away as people fall on their faces all the time, but a bruise where your neck meets your shoulder? Hard to fall on that area without dying.

"Are these your friends?" Paige asked, eyes lighting up as the two approached them. She grabbed Arthur's hand and shook it quickly before doing the same to Wynona. "I'm Paige, and I am very excited that you've come to rob my father."

John watched, amused, as Arthur and Wynona exchanged glances.

"Oh, your dress is beautiful," Paige continued, fawning over Wynona for a moment before addressing them both again. "Are you two an item?"

"Oh yeah," John snorted, smugly savoring the icy glare Arthur shot him as he and Wynona both replied, "No."

Paige didn't seem to know what to make of this nor the pregnant pause that followed, so she clasped her hands together and placed them neatly at the front of her skirts.

Finally, John cleared his throat and turned to Paige, who was still smiling at Arthur and Wynona. "They'll just be needin' that location you were mentioning."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, lowering her voice and gesturing them all in closer. "If you head back inside, you'll see a long hallway to the left of the foyer just before the stairs. The room on the right, at the end of that hallway, will have what you're looking for."

"Anyone guardin' that we should know about?" Arthur asked.

Paige shook her head. "We don't see a lot of crime here," she explained. "We don't see a lot of anything here, actually."

"We should've come by sooner," Wynona teased, smirking at John.

As Arthur and Wynona turned to head back into the house, Paige piped up again. "The door's locked. I can get you the key--"

"Won't be a problem, sugar," Wynona grinned impishly, saluting the other girl before taking Arthur by the arm and continuing on.

John caught himself gazing at Paige endearingly as she watched the other two disappear inside. She looked extremely pleased.

"I like them," she said, turning back towards him and returning her arms to their places at his shoulders.

This time, John rested his hands at her waist unprompted. "They're the worst."

"Now what?" Paige inquired, looking up at him. Her eyes had softened somewhat and John found himself returning her smile for the first time all night.

"Now we wait."

They swayed quietly in time with the music. As it begun to pick up, John found the courage to spin her away from him with one outstretched arm, then gently tug her back. She returned, a blur of red hair and moonlight, one hand on his chest, and with a little more force than he had intended.

"Oof," he laughed.

"You'll get it one of these days," Paige giggled.

John had to admit, now that there was less pretense, he was actually having fun. He still wasn't sure how or even if he should keep up his end of their bargain, but he was at least enjoying himself for the first time in a while.

"So, why aren't you doing the robbing?" Paige asked as they resumed swaying to the music -- it was much safer. "Don't like getting your hands dirty?"

John shot her a look, only mildly insulted, but let it go when he realized she was, once again, only teasing. "They're, uh, well, Wynona at least, is sneaky. We're all good at something."

"What d'you think I'd be good at?"

"Talking," he blurted without missing a beat. "You'd be the distraction, for sure."

He didn't get to take in Paige's reaction as, at that moment, a loud bang rang out from inside the house, thunderous and rumbling -- a revolver shot. John's reaction was instant, breaking away from her without another thought and dropping a hand to the holster on his belt.

"What was that?" he heard her ask as she clutched the elbow of his jacket. John shook her off, brow knitted with concern, and started towards the house, though he knew by the clicks of her heels on the deck behind him that she was following. Guests had begun pouring out onto the lawn and he had to shoulder his way past a handful of them just to make it inside.

He only glanced back for a moment as he brushed past a man with peppered orange hair, just long enough to watch him grab Paige roughly by the upper arm and wrench her away, fingers digging hard enough to leave marks. John didn't have time to focus on those pieces as they fell into place.

"Your guests," he heard the man seethe over the uproar of people clambering outside. His accent was thick and identical to Paige's. "I should have left you in Dublin with your mother, girl."

John had just made it to the opening of the hallway by the stairs when Arthur and Wynona came crashing into him, nearly knocking him off balance. Arthur had his gun out and was hovering it menacingly at the panicking party guests. Luckily, most of them were in flight, more concerned with getting away from the shooter rather than taking him down.

"The hell is going on?!" John barked furiously, shoving Arthur off of him.

"Big man over here and his itchy goddamn trigger finger!" Wynona hissed, glaring daggers at Arthur as she tucked an ornate wooden cash box under her arm before gathering her skirts in one hand.

Arthur returned her glare, disbelief etched all over his face. "He was about to draw!"

"He was a housekeeper!" Wynona shrieked.

"Both of you, shut up!" John exclaimed impatiently as another gunshot rang out above their heads, causing all three of them to glance around wildly for its source as they took off running towards the front door. "Where's Dutch and Hosea?"

The trio skidded to a halt mere steps from the exit as a large man in a suit that none of them recognized cut them off. John swore loudly, jaw clenched and gun at his side as he found himself staring straight into the barrel of the man's revolver.

Wynona gasped sharply, causing John's heart to jolt in his chest as another gunshot went off and a bullet seared its way straight through the side of the large man's head. John exhaled slowly as the man crumpled to the floor beneath them and watched the steadily growing puddle of blood that seeped onto the hardwood floor from the head wound.

"You get what we came for?" Dutch's voice was agitated and matched the look of irritation on his face as he holstered his pistol at his side. Hosea was standing beside him, arms crossed and looking exasperated.

John flinched as Wynona shoved past him, stepping over the dead man's body to hand Dutch the wooden box she was carrying. Dutch sighed and nodded, the expression on his face softening.

"All right, let's go," he instructed, beckoning them all to follow him. "I think we've overstayed our welcome."

The additional commotion stirred by the man they had left on the floor helped the gang slip outside relatively unnoticed. John felt a wave of relief rush over him as they left the pandemonium behind them and rushed out across the front lawn towards the open estate gates.

"There should be horses hitched right outside," came Hosea's voice between breaths. They found them easily and unhitched the three closest to the gate, calming the steeds as best they could before climbing on. While Dutch and Hosea shared one, Arthur and Wynona took another, leaving John on his own, for which he wasn't entirely ungrateful.

As the other four began making their way towards the road, a nagging thought at the back of John's mind stayed his spurs and he found himself turning to look back towards the manor, chewing his lip.

"What're you doin', son?" Dutch inquired, steering his and Hosea's horse up next to him. "We gotta go."

John let out an annoyed groan, shaking his head and grumbling, "I'll catch up. I left something behind."

As the others galloped off down the road, John turned his horse back toward the estate's front lawn, digging his heels into its sides to urge it forward. He rode quietly around the side of the manor, where it was much quieter and more dimly lit. He knew he only had a few minutes, if that, before the law showed up but looked up into each of the house's many windows, searching, until he finally saw her.

Up on the second floor, Paige sat against her bedroom window, looking sullen and as angry as the color of her hair. She had already gotten rid of her party dress and was lounging forlornly in a dressing gown.

John opened his mouth to shout at her, but immediately caught himself, remembering that it was probably best not to draw any unwarranted attention. He tried waving, but all that did was make him feel foolish when she didn't notice. Finally, he whistled, quickly and loudly through his teeth.

That, she heard. He watched, a proud smirk on his face as she turned towards the window and noticed him looking up at her. In a flurry of movement, she raised the window and stuck her head out, green eyes gleaming with delight.

"I didn't really peg you for a romantic, John Marston," she called down to him, grinning from ear to ear. John raised a finger to his lips, glancing in each direction to see if anyone had overheard her.

"Come on," he said once he was sure the coast was still clear. "We're leavin' now."

He didn't need to tell her twice. Paige disappeared for a moment, reappearing with a linen bag, which she tossed down to him unceremoniously. He braced himself in his saddle and caught it just before it hit him in the face.

"Ain't I had enough near-death experiences tonight?" he muttered, securing the bag to the back of his stolen horse.

Paige didn't answer, and when John was done with her bag, he noticed that was because she had busied herself by climbing out of her window and down the side of the house. His heart skipped a beat and he leaped out of the saddle onto the ground below her.

"Are you nuts?!"

"Weren't you just saying to be quiet?" Paige taunted in that cooing voice of hers, carefully descending the wall with the help of the second-floor balcony rungs and a wooden trellis of climbing vines. John had to admit, he was impressed.

"Why do I get the feelin' you've done that before?" he asked as she jumped the last two feet of the trellis.

"No more questions, Marston," Paige ordered, grinning wickedly as he mounted the stolen horse before helping her up. "Let's go."

As they peeled out of the estate and onto the road, John took one last look behind them and, past the wafting curtain of red tendrils obscuring his vision, he could make out officers in a stagecoach pulling up to front gates. Paige's arms around his waist tightened and he spurred their horse faster down the macadam road, feeling excited, thrilled almost, for once in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> this took me way, way too long to write. please let me know what you thought. <3


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